


Three Mistakes to get it Right

by Black_Rose_117



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Rose_117/pseuds/Black_Rose_117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes it takes a few mistakes to finally get things right. </p><p>A birthday gift to the wonderful Remanth :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Mistakes to get it Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [remanth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/gifts).



Sherlock sat in his arm chair, his long legs folded underneath him and his hands stapled together, resting against his chin. He stared off into space, looking at the empty chair across from him where John normally sat. The flat always seemed so empty without him there, especially so when he was out on a date with one of those horrid woman he managed to find. How he found them was at a loss to Sherlock, but he had found them non-the-less, and Sherlock wasn't happy about it. 

He sighed dramatically and lowered his hands, turning his head to look up at the clock that hung over the mantle. It was almost midnight already; John should have been home by now. Unless he was sleeping over, which he never did on his first date. But maybe...

Sighing again, Sherlock stood from the chair and started pacing. He never liked it when John just left him for the night. He normally always texted if he was sleeping elsewhere, but Sherlock's phone hadn't sung out for him once. Ever since he came back after his three year "death," John had always made sure to update him whenever his plans had changed. 

The night he had come back had changed everything between them. Sherlock loved the way things were, and John wanted something "more," so in order to fix it, they found middle ground. 

\------------

"John?" Sherlock asked, opening the door of 221B and stepping inside. 

Three years. It had been three years since he had set foot in this flat. Since he had seen John's face. Since he had been able to talk to John in person. As Sherlock looked around the flat, it felt cold and empty. So John wasn't home; where was he?

Sherlock paced farther into the flat, his eyes scanning for the doctor. His feet carried him up the stairs almost automatically, carrying his to his old room. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes caressing the walls and few items he had that didn't have to do with experiments. The bed sheets were messed up - so John was sleeping in his room? No, not every night, at least. The room only faintly smelled of John, otherwise, it still held that slight tinge of chemicals that Sherlock knew John had come to associate with him. So John slept in here... when he missed him?

Sherlock shook his head and continued around the room. The violin sat on a stand on the wall, the wood a beautiful polish piece and the bow freshly cleaned. It had been used recently. So John had learned to play the violin after he was gone? Did it help him feel closer?

There were new experiments littering the floor in a corner - ones Sherlock had written down in a notebook John, himself, had gotten him. Had John been continuing his research? Sure enough, the notebook lay open to a page with Sherlock's experiment written in diagrams on it; and John's hand writing intertwined with Sherlock's. Things and ideas were scribbled in the corner of the pages, some of them having nothing to do with the experiments. As Sherlock flipped back in the book, he found a small note at the bottom of his "bee box vs. open wild" experiment (which honey was sweeter). 

_Sherlock, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I thought I could follow in your steps; doing your experiments, learning your violin. If you were here, I could hear you telling me how boring I'm being; how idiotic._

He turned the page trying to find the rest only to find it blank. He turned a few more and finally found a continuation five pages down. 

_By now, you'd be telling me I'm doing it all wrong. You'd be pushing me aside to take over; scribbling over my notes and sketches and explaining to me in great detail every single thing I did wrong. You'd make me feel like I don't know right from left and I'd storm away telling you how much I hate you._

Another six pages down, there was more. 

_But I guess I don't hate you, do I, Sherlock?_

A few more.

_No. I can't hate you. I can hate what you did. How you left me. But I can't hate you..._

He flipped to the experiment right before the one John was currently working on. There, in the top right hand corner of the page was a small note containing seven words. 

_No. Sherlock. I love you._

_John Watson._

Sherlock flipped back over to the page of the experiment currently in progress and started to walk to John's room. He pushed the door open and looked around inside. His sheets were pooled at the foot of the bed, his alarm was smashed against the far wall and his clothes were laying everywhere; hanging over chairs, laying on the desk and pushed under the bed. _In a way_ , Sherlock thought as he walked deeper into the room, _This really mirrors how John's been feeling. Scattered, tore apart, uncared for..._

"But I do care, John," Sherlock muttered as he picked up one of the jumpers. "I left you because I care... Because I lo-"

The front door slammed open then, causing Sherlock to cut off his sentence. He turned from the room and moved quickly, in long strides, down to the living room. John had his back to him, his hands making slow work of the coat that hugged his now slender form. He had lost fifty pounds, at least, obviously from now eating enough. He had bags under his eyes from what Sherlock could tell, so doesn't sleep well, if at all. His hands were burned from the experiments and they shook just slightly. He had a cane again, god damn it. He was using the cane he had left behind when he first dashed out after Sherlock. He got it back...

John turned, his eyes cast down to the floor. He paused in a mid-stride, his eyes finding Sherlock's shoes and he licked his lips. In one swift motion, he had twisted the handle of his cane and yanked out a gun that had been turned into the handle. He pointed it at Sherlock, his hands suddenly steady and his gaze locked on Sherlock's shoes. 

"Who are you?" He asked, his voice raspy. Did he pick up smoking as well? "What are you doing here?"

"John?" Sherlock asked, taking a step closer to the doctor and watching his flinch. "Lower the gun, John."

"N-no!" John growled, his hands keeping the gun pointed evenly on his heart. "You cannot trick me into thinking you're _him_. He's dead, that bastard!"

"I faked my death, John," Sherlock said, holding out a hand between him and the gun. "Look at me. Tell me I'm not him."

John's eyes snapped up to Sherlock's and widened. His mouth fell open and he lowered the gun to the floor. "Great..." he muttered, his legs wobbling. "Great.. bloody great... now I'm bloody seeing things... oh god... oh god!"

Sherlock launched forward and caught John in his arms before he could fall on his face. He pulled him close to his chest, turning him over so he was laying on his back. His eyes were closed and his heart rate was pounding like he'd just run a marathon. Sherlock tucked a strand of dirty blond hair behind John's ear and out of his eyes. Out of an urge, he pressed a gentle kiss to John's forehead and stood with the doctor in his arms. He carried him up to Sherlock's room and laid him down on the bed, covering him with the first sheet. 

"I love you too, John," he muttered, pushing more hair out of the doctor's eyes before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. 

\----------

"Sherlock?" John muttered, his eyes fluttering open and taking in the surroundings of Sherlock's bedroom. He sat up and looked around, everything the way it should be... well, now, anyway. Nothing is as it should be. Sherlock is dead, that shouldn't be real. "It was all a dream..."

Depression rolled over him once again as he stood from the bed and took Sherlock's robe. He wrapped it tightly around his shoulders and started down to the kitchen. There was a loud crash down in the kitchen and John instinctively started to run down towards the source of the noise. He skidded to a stop, his eyes widening again as he took in the sight of Sherlock, hunched over on the floor and collecting the broken glass with his blood-smeared hands. He looked up at John and gave him an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said, standing and throwing the glass into the trash. "I know that was your favorite mug and-"

"Sherlock?" John asked, his voice quiet. He took a few steps forwards until he basically fell into Sherlock's arms, wrapping his own around Sherlock's neck. "Sherlock. How? Why?"

"Shush," Sherlock hushed him, the doctor falling quiet at once. "John, I saw the experiments."

John's body tensed at once, his shoulders going ridged. "Y-you did?" he asked, stepping away a little. "D-did you flip through or did you just see-?"

"I flipped through."

John dropped his head to look at his feet; at his not-there stomach. At Sherlock's robe wrapped around his body. "Sherlock, what I wrote in there... I didn't mean-"

"I feel the same way, John," Sherlock cut him off, John's head snapping up to Sherlock's again. "I really do. But I don't want us to change, either."

"I think you may need to explain that, Sherlock."

"I don't want you to leave me, John; I may even want to step up our relationship to something... more than just friends. But I also don't want things to change. I want us to be friends. I don't want something to happen that manages to tear us apart," Sherlock said, placing his hands on John's lower arms. "I want things the same as before I left."

"Sherlock, I waited for three years," John said, shaking his head. "I just got back into dating, but I knew I wasn't going to find anyone else for me but you. I... I need you. I don't want to date others..."

"Then don't."

"But I need someone who I know is going to stay with me."

"John, date or don't date. But for now-" Sherlock pulled John closer, taking him by the hips. He tilted John's chin up with one hand and slowly leaned down till their lips were inches apart. "Kiss me."

John nodded, swallowed loudly, than closed the space between them. Their lips danced slowly against each other, John's tongue gently poked at Sherlock's lips until he opened up and met John's halfway to engage in a slow waltz of tongue and lips. 

When after a good time of slow, gentle kissing, they broke, panting. Sherlock leaned his forehead against John's and closed his eyes, just letting John's breath ghost over his lips as he slowly regained his breath. 

"Brilliant," John muttered, making Sherlock laugh loudly at the new use of the word. John chuckled along with him, wrapping him up in his arms once again. 

"Brilliant indeed," Sherlock whispered back, placing a lazy kiss on John's cheek.

\----------

It was five years later now, and Sherlock was pacing the living room, still waiting for John to return home from his seventeenth date with the same girl. He started dating woman again about two years ago, saying Sherlock wasn't doing anything to advance their relationship farther then sex and he needed to find someone he could really have. 

They hadn't taken that as a break up, though. They still had sex when they weren't too tired from a long day chasing criminals. When they were, they snuggled in bed pressing lazy kisses to each other's lips until they fell asleep in each other's arms. It was nice, Sherlock had to admit, but after John dated this same girl for half a year, and went on seventeen dates, Sherlock started to worry maybe John had found someone he wanted _more_ then him. 

When it passed two in the morning, Sherlock knew it was a lost cause. John was sleeping over at this girl's house (what was her name? Mandy? Mary? Sarah?), and had finally had sex with someone other then him. John hadn't had sex with anyone but Sherlock for five years, but now...

Sherlock fell into his arm chair, a small black box clutched in his fist. So that was it. John was moving on. 

\----------

John walked into 221B the next morning feeling guilty and stupid. He and Marianna had gone to a bar the night before and, of course, he got drunk off his ass. She had taken him to her place and, to put it lightly, he had pounded her right into the mattress. He hadn't had sex with anyone but Sherlock for the past five years... he told himself he'd only date woman to get Sherlock jealous until the other man finally made a move; never kiss them more then a few pecks, never make it "official" between them, and most of all, _never_ have sex with them at any cost. 

And in one night, he broke at least two of those three rules. He told Marianna as soon as they were awake that it wasn't such a good idea that they kept dating, had packed up the few items he had at her flat, and had hailed a cab back to 221B. He didn't know how he was going to face Sherlock, knowing the man could deduce exactly what happened the night before before John could even open his mouth; and he wasn't looking forward to explaining to Sherlock why he did what he did. Surely, as soon as he picked up that he had sex with a woman, he would take that as a break up... right?

He pushed the door open to their flat, his eyes cast to the floor. He moved in quietly and hung his coat up on the coat rack. Turning to face the living room, his eyes landed on Sherlock, sleeping in the arm chair by the mantle. His face was uneasy, at through he was having a rough sleep, and his body was curled around its self in the little room he had in the arm chair. 

His eyes fell to the floor where a small black box sat by the foot of the chair. Curious, he went over to the sleeping detective quietly, and bent over to pick it up. His heart rate picked up at once as he realized what the box was; he turned it over so the lid would lift up properly and pushed the lid open. Inside sat a small golden band, glittering in the small amount of light that managed to peak in. Was Sherlock really going to-?

John started when Sherlock grunted next to him and slowly sat up. The detective blinked a few times then turned to look at John, his eyes instantly falling on the small black box in John's hands. Sherlock was on his feet, snatching the box away, within seconds. He shoved it deep into his pocket and turned his gaze from John. 

"Morning," he muttered, his tone cold. 

"Sherlock... Was that-?"

"No, John, it wasn't," Sherlock cut him off, shaking his head and starting to walk towards the kitchen. He had no intensions of talking things out with John. John had moved on after all this time - in a way, he guessed it was enviable - and didn't need the consulting detective any more. They'd just go back to being flat mates, like they had at the very beginning of their days. It was no big deal... not really... "Not anymore."

"Sherlock!" John called, moving quickly after the detective. "Sherlock, please, let me explain what happened."

"No, John. Not unless you have a really good bloody excuse. I don't want to hear that you're done with me; I've figured that out for myself. I get it, I waited too long. Now you're over me and we'll just go back to being flat mates. It's no big deal," Sherlock snapped. He turned on his heels and started to storm up to his room, hearing John follow right after him. "Just leave me alone."

"Sherlock, that isn't what happened!"John pleaded, following close behind Sherlock and trying to get him to look at him. "Sherlock, please let me explain! We went to a bar! I was drunk! I wasn't thinking-"

"You never are, are you?" Sherlock snapped, turning back around all of a sudden, making John slam into Sherlock's torso. "You never think! You just act! I've never felt like this towards anyone and you go and tear that apart; fucking some girl that isn't even right for you! She doesn't care about you; she doesn't love you! Not like I do."

With that, Sherlock continued back up to his room, John standing there for a long minute before running after him. He shoved his foot between the door and the wall to keep Sherlock from shutting it completely. 

"Sherlock, please, I love you, too," John said, his heart picking up in pace again. He never admitted it out loud, neither of them have, and he wanted to say what he had to say before he chickened out. He leaned against the door and continued in a whisper. "Sherlock, I need you in my life. The only reason I started dating woman again was to make you jealous; try to get you to make a move. I wanted you to want me as much as I needed you. Even half of how much I needed you. How much I need you now. I never want to leave you. I want- I want-"

"What?" Sherlock asked, his voice still coated in frost but slightly warmer. 

"I want... you to be mine forever," John murmured, dropping his forehead to the cool wood. "I want us to get married, Sherlock."

The door gave out underneath him, swinging open and causing John to stumble forward awkwardly. He pitched forward, only to be caught in Sherlock's arms, the detective pulling him to his chest. 

"I want that too," he muttered, pulling the box from his pocket. "Will you, John, marry me?"

"Do you forgive me, Sherlock?" John said, meeting Sherlock's eyes. 

"I do," Sherlock nodded. "But I want a better explanation later."

"I can do that," John said, a small smile crossing his face. He placed his hand on the box Sherlock was holding in front of him and leaned to rest his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "I will, Sherlock. I will marry you."

Soft lips met John's in a caress kiss; keeping it light and loving. "You won't be dating anymore, correct?"

"No, Sherlock. I want no one but you."

"Good. Because you're mine now."

"Always."

\----------

John's back hit the wall of the kitchen and he gasped in shock. His mouth was covered at once by soft, caressing lips, a tongue snaking in to greet his own. The ring on John's left ring finger - the promise right Sherlock had given him that night he proposed - clinked against the wall behind him as Sherlock pinned his hands above his head. John's hips pushed forward, trying to find his lover's hips and get a bit of friction going, but he couldn't find them in his current state. He was pretty efficiently pinned to the wall by the rest of Sherlock's body. 

"I missed you," Sherlock whispered, going down to work the delicate pale skin just over John's pulse point. John moaned deeply and tilted his head back to give Sherlock's more room.

"I was only at work, love," John whispered, biting his lip. "I was only gone for a few hours."

"That was too long," Sherlock growled, his free hand sliding down to start up John's jumper. "I think you should quit."

"You know I - Oh... Oh god... - I can't..." John choked out, Sherlock's hand going down to cup his ass. "We... We can't live off of... of just the little... bit we get off... cases..."

"Than we can take more," Sherlock muttered, kissing John's jaw once the bruise on his neck was dark enough. "We can start taking more cases, simple ones and bring in more money. Anything to keep you here longer."

"I'll always be here-"

"You know what I mean," Sherlock growled, picking John up - who yelped - and laying him down on the dining room table. "Now, are we going to talk, or are we going to have hot sex on the dining table?"

"God, Sherlock... Do I have to answer?" John moaned, pulling Sherlock down on top of him and wrapping his legs around his waist, finally pushing their hips together and making both of them admit a moan as their members rubbed together. "I think you know that answer."

"I want to hear you say it," Sherlock growled, leaning down till he was grazing John's ear with his teeth as he spoke. 

"My... Sherlock, I want you inside me," John said, his hands trailing up to the first button on Sherlock's shirt. "I want you to pound me into the table. I want you to make me come so hard I won't be able to stand easily for a week."

"Only a week?" Sherlock chuckled, smiling as John worked on the buttons of his shirt. "I'll make it so you can't stand easily for a _month_."

John slid the fabric over Sherlock's shoulders and dropped it to the floor, humming in pleasure at the revealing of his toned chest. Sherlock pulled on John's jumper, who lifted his arms and allowed his lover to peal the clothing away. 

"I'd like to see you try," John challenged, a twinkle in his eyes. Sherlock smirked and tapped John's thigh to let him know to let him go. 

"Then we should get started," Sherlock smiled, slipping down and off the table so he could work John's button and fly open. "Come here."

John stood and Sherlock turned him so his back was pressed to his chest. Sherlock's arms wrapped around John's body and pushed his pants down, letting them fall and reveal John's boxers. Sherlock pushed those down soon after and let John step out of them both. Keeping one arm around John's waist, Sherlock popped his own pants open and pushed them down. He let the cloth pool around his ankles and stepped out of both his boxers and pants. 

"What are you planning to do to me?" John asked, watching Sherlock's feet as he kicked the clothes away. He felt Sherlock press completely up behind him and press his strong, callused hands on his hips. 

"I want you doubled over the edge of the table," Sherlock whispered into John's ear, sending chills up his spine. "You're feet flat on the floor."

John made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan as Sherlock made him double over and press his stomach flat to the table. Sherlock's hand staid on the middle of John's back as his other slid down to push John's lets apart. 

"Lube?" John asked as he felt Sherlock's finger circle his entrance. "Don't we have some?"

"Ran out," Sherlock muttered. "I'm sorry, love. I know it's going to be a little sore at first."

"Just do it," John growled, turning his head as best he could to see Sherlock over his shoulder. "Hurry..." 

"No rush, my love," Sherlock soothed, leaning over to press a kiss to John's shoulder blade. He gently pressed a finger in to the first knuckle, the job a bit difficult due to the dryness. "God... you're so tight and warm."

"Please... don't just sit there... move," John pleaded, his eyes closing and a hiss escaping through his teeth. "Please."

Sherlock moved his finger out just a bit before pushing in farther, John letting another long hiss out. "If this is too much, love-"

"No, it's fine," John bit back through gritted teeth. "We got this far... just move and go slowly."

Sherlock nodded and pressed the finger all the way in. He let John adjust for a moment before pulling it back, stopping just before his finger came completely out and pushed back in. He wiggled his finger around and listened to John moan deeply, the discomfort obvious on his features. Sherlock kept moving though, keeping his movements slow and even, making sure John was stretched enough before adding another finger. 

"Ouch," John moaned, his teeth grinding together as Sherlock slipped in the third finger. Sherlock froze, his three fingers pressed in completely to the final knuckle. 

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, leaning over to kiss John's back again. "I'm sorry, love."

"Fine, just move..." John grunted and bucked back into Sherlock's fingers. 

Sherlock stretched John for another few minutes, the noises the man made painful ones. After a while, Sherlock, thinking John was stretched enough, removed his fingers and lined himself up. He pressed in slowly, John arching up off the table and moaned pitifully. Sherlock rubbed his hand over John's back, giving him soothing kisses on his shoulders and whispering to him. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

He moved his hips slowly, John grunting with each push forward, his own hips being forced into the edge of the table. Sherlock moved carefully, fucking John as best he could without causing the doctor too much pain. 

"Sherlock," John moaned, turning his head once against to look at the detective, his eyes full of lust. 

"Yes, love?" 

"Harder."

Sherlock looked at his lover bent over the table. "Are you sur-"

"Do it!"

Sherlock bucked forward with a hard thrust and John moaned loudly to the ceiling, his hips making a cracking sound against the wood. Sherlock pulled back and did it again, the same noises coming from the doctor. 

Soon enough, Sherlock had his hand wrapped around John's member and John clawed at the table, moaning pathetically to the wood of the table. He shouted Sherlock's name a few times as he came closer to the edge before Sherlock pulled him back with a sharp squeeze to the base of his prick. "Not yet," he'd whispered, kissing John's neck before pounding him into the table yet again. 

John was close to climax at least seven times; he was now a shivering mess beneath Sherlock's touch, moaning and grunting at each little movement and his hips sore from hitting the table. 

"Sherlock, please," he begged as another climax pooled in his stomach. "I-I can't take it any more..."

Sherlock nodded and pressed another kiss to John's neck, moving to his ear to whisper, "Come for me, love. Make a mess for me all over the table."

And John did just that. His orgasm burst from him as Sherlock finished his sentence and he coated Sherlock's hand in his warm liquid. He shivered as he came, his body feeling relief and pain at the same time. Sherlock came not long after, John's muscles clamping down on him the final straw. A strangled scream was pulled from his throat as he came into John's tight hole. 

"S-Sh-Sherlock!" John screamed as another burst of his orgasm came from him. Sherlock was stilled behind him, having just finished his own orgasm, and slowly soothed John through his second orgasm. 

The last burst was smaller, but a painful relief all the same. As John came for a third time, his voice was drawn from him, leaving him unable to even whimper. 

Sherlock held John through his final orgasm as the other man finished and fell onto the table. They were both panting heavily as Sherlock gently slid out and moved himself into a chair. He helped John come and sit in his lap and pressed lazy kisses to the other man's sweaty skin. 

"You were beautiful," Sherlock whispered, trying to sooth the still shivering detective. "That was amazing."

"I don't think I'll be able to sit normally for a while," John murmured, leaning his head against Sherlock's shoulder and pressing his face into the man's neck. "You were amazing."

"So glad you're mine," the detective yawned, pressing another lazy kiss to the doctor's neck. 

"I love you, Sherlock."

"I love you too, John."


End file.
